End of the Road
by Korjubzot
Summary: An alternate version of Death of a Junker. Roadhog is killed, and Jamison grieves just the way you expect him to.
1. Chapter 1

End of the Road

Roadhog went out the same way he came in: without any fanfare, but hard nonetheless. Six Talon agents go down with him, skulls cracked under his thick fists. It was a lucky shot that finally got him, nicked him in the neck and the infamous outlaw was brought down to the floor.

Junkrat doesn't find out for eighteen hours, not until the carrier with Roadhog's team - Reinhardt, McCree, Ana, and that tin-can monk, priest, whatever it is - returns from the mission. Reinhardt's armor is spattered in blood, too much of it Roadhog's. His body lays on the floor of the carrier, poorly covered with a sheet. Jesse comes awful close to chuckling hysterically at how his fat gut pokes through up against the sheet.

Winston doesn't find out for another sixteen minutes, at which point he hears the explosions and yelling from up in command and comes barrelling down expecting the worst.

"You've killed him, you filthy _goddamn_ tin-can piece of _junk!_ " Winston processes the situation immediately - one dead Junker, a still smoking crater, and Junkrat turning on Zenyatta. The skinny Junker weighs maybe half as much as Zenyatta, but drags him to the ground anyways, swinging wildly. Dull thuds echo around as Junkrat lays into the monk, who simply takes the beating like it doesn't hurt. Being a robot, it almost certainly didn't. It's McCree who grasps Junkrat by the scruff of his neck and hauls him up, still swinging.

"Get a hold of yourself, boy!" Jesse damn near raises a hand to slap the life out of him. Roadhog had been a violent, dangerously psychotic man, and a fairly loud part of Jesse was glad to see him gone, particularly if it meant Junkrat was gone as well. He hadn't much sympathy for the cruel or the unjust, and Roadhog seemed like too much of both.

"Go fu-"

"Enough!" Winston's voice booms, all gorilla and no man. He takes Junkrat from Jesse's grip and sets him down, a firm grip still on his arm.

"Ana, Reinhardt, please meet me in central command for a debriefing. Jesse, please get a medical team. I need to speak with these two." The trio nodded and walked away, looking defeated and frustrated with themselves.

Zenyatta slowly composed himself, settling back into his inexplicable floating pose.

"Are you alright?"

"Quite unharmed, if a little dented."

"I'll leave you more than dented, you c-" Junkrat is cut off as Winston tightens his grip, uncomfortably aware of his strength.

"What happened to him?" Winston asks.

"Roadhog was embroiled in a fight with several other Talon agents some distance away from the rest of the team. I believe he was shot through the neck, and died too rapidly for myself or Miss Amari to assist." Zenyatta lowers his head and lets his shoulders fall from the meditation pose. Winston, a man (of a sorts) of science, had rapidly picked up on Omnic body language shortly after they began integration. Without expressive eyes like humans, they relied instead on body language, more like primates and dogs. A pose such as Zenyatta's could only mean deep respect and sorrow at his own failure.

"Metal freak! I'll blow you back to scrap!" Junkrat struggled and squirmed, eyes screwed up to stop the tears. "I'll blow you to pieces like Roadhog did your Omnium!"

"ENOUGH!" Junkrat finally shuts his mouth for two seconds, and even Zenyatta floats backwards a few steps. Winston surprises even himself with his own fury, the way his voice effortlessly fades into a animal roar. In his worst moments - the Talon raid that had led to the recall, for instance - he sometimes forgot he was almost a man and let nature take charge, with devastating results that shook the gorilla to his core.

"Junkrat, you are confined to your quarters as of now. If I hear so much as a _squeak_ from you for the next day, you'll know exactly how a wild gorilla acts." Winston almost tosses Jamison away, glad to have the upsetting young man finally leaving his presence. Even as Junkrat walks off, he mumbles under his breath about tin-cans. Winston turns to Zenyatta and bows slightly.

"My apologies. I knew he and his… enforcer were how they are, but I never thought it would turn so violent."

"I should be the one apologising. I was trusted with Mako's care, and I have failed both him and Jamison."

"Mako? Oh, right. Well, I'd suggest avoiding Junkrat for some time. It may be difficult, but it's for the best."

"I understand, and yet I fear for Jamison's soul should we stray too far apart."

"I'm sorry?" Winston, despite working with a great many unusual and outright mystical people, seemed a little dumbfounded at the idea of a _soul._

"I have sensed a great discord within our Junker friend. A discord that I see far too much of in humans his age."

"I… see. Nonetheless, he will need time to process Roadhog's death. Perhaps a few days, at least."

High heels clanked into the hangar. Mercy on call, with a pair of assistants and Jesse to assist with the heavy weight.

"Of course, just a few days. At least."

4


	2. Chapter 2

Roadhog's funeral is disappointingly simple. Junkrat attends in his standard gear of singed pants and high explosives. He mostly wears the grenades (several of which are ticking) as a way to keep his fellow agents away from him during the funeral. That Zygler, Ziegler, whatever-her-name-is lady had turned up and offered her condolences. The gorilla had attended as well, in a custom made suit to fit his enormous frame. As had the cowboy and the British girl (the single beacon of light was the sight of her in a suit), but no one else. The sniper woman with one eye, and all the rest of the older Overwatch crowd, had not turned up.

Junkrat supposed that was fair enough. He and Roadhog had known full well that these people weren't like them, didn't have a real _reason_ to hate Omnics like they did. Hadn't lived the end of the world like they had. It was just another war to fight, and when it was over everybody went back to normal, back home to their families. The war never ended for the Junkers, and there was no normal anymore. No homes to go back to.

"Well, I suppose this is it, mate." Junkrat tears off a ticking grenade, unspooling a length of sticky tape from his belt.

"End of the line, last drinks, all that nonsense." He affixes the grenade to the headstone - 'Mako "Roadhog" Rutledge. Answered the Call.' - and repeats the process.

"It was awful good to have you round, you know. Nice to have someone to talk to." A third and then fourth grenade are stuck on. Junkrat is quietly a little glad the grave is empty, Roadhog's ashes having been scattered at sea instead. No need for body parts to get everywhere.

"Well, I say that. It was awful good to have someone to talk to who didn't tell me to shut up every five seconds."

Jamison takes a number of steps back, to exactly the safe distance. He then steps a few closer, because it's not as fun otherwise.

"It were like being a kid again, I s'pose." One of a hundred detonators he's made is attached to his belt. He tears it off (far too roughly for something so delicate) and primes it, waiting for the right words to come to mind.

Nothing does.

"Aw, bugger it." Junkrat thumbs the detonator. With enormous fanfare that Roadhog doubtlessly would have disapproved of, the grave goes up in a beautiful soaring arc of yellow and red. Smoke pours from the bombs as dirt and stone go in all directions, spattering Junkrat with bits and pieces. Ever the expert, Junkrat's demolition has left his friend's grave absolutely destroyed, but the surrounding ones intact. Some quiet voice had suggested that perhaps blowing up the graves of other people's heroes was a bad idea, even for him.

 _Just blow up_ your _hero's grave, mate_ , it had suggested instead.

2


	3. Chapter 3

"Master Fawkes?"

Junkrat's hands almost instantly fly to his launcher at the synthesised sound of Zenyatta's voice. It's been two weeks since the funeral, and it wasn't hard to tell that Junkrat (in his own way) was still grieving. The smoke pouring from his workshop and explosions at odd hours of the night was evidence enough, but to add to that Junkrat was rarely seen during the day and seemed to spend most of his time muttering to himself or visiting the ruins of Roadhog's grave.

"It's Junkrat to you, tin-can."

"Master Junkrat, then." The monk bowed his head. "I hoped to offer my condolences for what happened to Master Rutledge. I know the two of you were close friends."

"What would you know about friends? Goddamn robot."

"You are not the only one to have lost family, Master Junkrat."

"Get out of it, freak."

"I am sorry for what my kind did to your family. To your father, and to your friend."

"GET OUT!"

Zenyatta does not entirely understand how he sees the souls of others. He has, on occasion, speculated he may simply be malfunctioning and seeing things. Regardless, the swirling purple anger around Junkrat flares and dies away, left to simmer like water in a pot. Flecks of blue throw up into the mix, sadness being suppressed by the rage.

"Master Junkrat, I am only here to try and help. That is my purpose upon this Earth, and I fear that if we do not work together to eliminate the discord within you, it may consume you."

"I don't give a damn what your _purpose_ is, mate. Get outta my room before I stick a grenade in your oil hole."

"I fear, Master Junkrat, you may have some trouble with that."

"Alright, that's _it!_ " Junkrat leaps off his bunk almost like, well, a rat, going straight for Zenyatta with fists clenched. It's a major surprise when he finds himself on the floor with a bruised cheek, the monk unharmed.

"You're supposed to be a pacifist, freak!"

"I am far from unable to protect myself, Master Jamison. That is besides the point, however. I have something to show you."

"Stick it up yer arse, _mate._ " Junkrat clambers to his feet and starts swinging again. This time, Zenyatta doesn't deflect or dodge - he grabs Junkrat's fist with one hand and rests another onto his forehead.

There are many things about the Iris that Zenyatta doesn't understand. How can an Omnic, a manufactured piece of machinery, develop a soul and even have an afterlife? How could he sense the pain in a fellow Omnic or a human? It didn't matter how so much as the fact that he could, though. Zenyatta's peculiarity had quietly grown in strength, and during his time with the cyborg Genji he had discovered that his Harmony orbs (as most of the Overwatch team called them) had a tendency to carry information. A sort of two way connection, a sort of sharing the weight of discord upon two sets of shoulders instead of just one. Emotions, memories, even just a fleeting thought, they all passed through his orbs.

Junkrat, of course, did not know any of this. As far as Junkrat was concerned, his mind was suddenly bombarded with images, only a few he understood. Roadhog, holding Junkrat by the scruff of his neck. Roadhog catching him midair after an explosion of a dodgy batch of bombs. A smiling teenage girl in a school uniform waving goodbye to a slimmer, happier Mako. Rage against a machine. The shame and regret of a terrible mistake. A quiet moment in the night, beside a fire, Mako watching Junkrat titter in his sleep.

"Too… too much potassium…" Jamison mumbles.

"Shut up." Roadhog says. It's not vindictive, just a habit.

The image lingers longer than the rest, and Junkrat feels a strange sensation in his gut. It's like having a family again. Like he's five or six, just before everything kicked off, his dad showing little Jamie under the hood of a car, telling him how the petrol combusts and raises the pistons. That sense of _belonging_ that Jamison hadn't felt since the Omnium went off, Mako had felt that night. It was maybe a few weeks before Junkrat had suggested going straight.

And all of a sudden it stops. Junkrat is left on the floor, writhing a little on the floor. Zenyatta sits crosslegged beside him.

"Perhaps now you understand?"

3


End file.
